A Liturgical Enigma

Among the effects of
the church’s adoption of the Septuagint’s ordering of the
Hebrew Scriptures is that the Megilloth, five books selected to be
read on five Jewish festivals, have been separated in the biblical
text. That may not appear important for many biblical scholars, for
these scrolls were composed at different times with different styles
and were written to be read independently. Nevertheless, someone
chose to include them together as a unit in the third part of the
Hebrew canon and that unit may bear meaning that the individual parts
do not.

The first thing to note
about the Megilloth is that they do not, in the Hebrew canon, follow
the chronological order of the festivals with which they are
connected. If one regards the first month as occurring in the
spring, the proper order ought to be: Song of Songs (Passover), Ruth
(Pentecost), Lamentations (Ninth of Ab), Ecclesiastes (Tabernacles),
and Esther (Purim). Instead, the Megilloth begins with Ruth and has
Lamentations following Ecclesiastes. Why? Perhaps there is an
argument in the five works that demanded a reordering of the texts.

Following the Hebrew
canon’s order, therefore, we begin with Ruth. Clearly, from a
strictly Jewish point of view, the book of Ruth is shocking. After
all, the Jews claim to be the chosen people of God and therefore have
sought to keep their bloodlines pure. Intermarriage with the goyim
has always been frowned upon. The book of Ezra, another work of the
Kethuvi’im, calls upon the men of Israel to relinquish their
foreign wives, but in Ruth a Moabite girl not only is glorified for
her determination, after the death of her husband, to stay with her
Israelite mother-in-law and then to marry a second Israelite man; she
is also identified as the great grandmother of none other than King
David himself. The Book of Ruth is a lovely story about a determined
woman, but why was it included in the Bible? The fact that David was
part Moabite hardly concurs with basic Jewish attitudes.

Ruth is followed by the
Song of Songs, a work that is reminiscent of many divine-human love
poems from around the world. I think of the Gitagovinda,
Jayadeva’s wonderful Indian poem about Krishna and Radha’s
love affair and of Mirabi’s passionate verse. The Song of Songs
is also surely consistent with the common biblical metaphor that
portrays Israel as the wife of Yahweh. Indeed, the whole biblical
story can be understood as a love story in which Yahweh chooses
Israel as his bride.

In this poem, however,
it would appear that Israel is a captive in the harem of Solomon
while Yahweh is, as her shepherd lover, either unable or unwilling to
save her. She hopes that he will come like a “young stag upon
the mountains of spices” (8:14), but he has not come yet.
Jayadeva’s poem ends with the complete reconciliation of Radha
and Krishna and a scene of monumental love-making. The Song of
Songs, however, provides no happy ending. The young woman who loves
the shepherd lad so much is left pining for what may be but not yet
is. It is as though the marriage covenant celebrated at Sinai is
“not yet” either.

The Song of Songs is
then followed by Qoheleth (Ecclesiastes) a piece of ancient wisdom
literature totally devoid of any references to the covenant and the
chosen people. God is mentioned quite often, but he hardly seems to
be the lover of Israel or a covenantal deity. In fact, the author
looks at the world with open eyes and realizes that since we all die
and there is no clear certainty of life after death, neither pleasure
nor piety nor wisdom really gets anyone anywhere. In the end, the
wise and the foolish meet the same end: death. “Drink your
wine,” he says, “with a merry heart, for God has already
approved what you do.” (9:7) Qoheleth is not an epicurean for
he sees all reality as “empty,” but in the midst of such
emptiness one should try for enjoyment, not asceticism.

God, for Qoheleth,
seems very far away and unapproachable. It is true that the book
ends by saying “Fear God, and keep his commandments; for this
is the whole duty of man,” (Ecclesiastes 12:13) but this is so
out of character with the rest of the book that there is good reason
to believe that these word were added by a later hand. More in
character is “God is in heaven, and you upon earth; therefore
let your words be few.” (5:2)

Qoheleth
(Ecclesiastes) is followed by The Lamentations, a series of poems
responding to the fall of Jerusalem and the destruction of Judah.
The punishment of the people has been severe and all are in deep
morning. The author writes, “I am the man who has seen
affliction under the rod of his wrath; he has driven and brought me
into the darkness without any light; surely against me he turns his
hand again and again the whole day long.” (3:1-3) In the Song
of Songs God is an absent lover, but he still seems to be a lover.
In Ecclesiastes he is absent but not vindictive. Here, however, God
has wreaked disaster upon the Jewish people. Nor is it clear that he
shall ever return. The book ends with the somber words, “Renew
our days as of old! Or hast thou utterly rejected us? Art thou
exceedingly angry with us?” (5:21-22)

Finally, there is the
book of Esther, a work that actually seems to have created Purim, the
festival at which it is read. God is not even mentioned once in the
work. The chief protagonists, who are Jewish, live in Persia, a
foreign land, and are subjected to prejudice and persecution.
Curiously their names reflect, not their Jewish past, but
Mesopotamia. The name Esther is derived from Ishtar, the Babylonian
goddess of life, while Mordecai derives from Marduk, the chief male
divinity. It may well be that the whole story is an historicized
version of a Mesopotamian myth. So the Megilloth ends in a very
secular way. The Jews win out, but are seemingly on their own. God
does not step in and help. Like Boaz in the book of Ruth, Esther is
married to a gentile, this time to King Ahasuerus of Persia. The
circle has been completed.

All of this seems to
indicate that neither the so-called “death of God” nor
the triumph of secularism are new; they are a part of the
Judeo-Christian tradition. In these books God is absent, not
present. No prophet speaks; the wisdom, such as it is, is highly
secular. The only “heroes” are women. Why rabbis would
have chosen such books for liturgical reading seems strange indeed.
Why should the absence of God be so obviously emphasized? The answer
is unclear. Nevertheless, the Megilloth are “in the Bible”
and therefore constitute a significant aspect of the faith. If one
affirms the Bible as the Word of God, these texts must be included.
Far from being a curious addendum without great meaning, they are
together a time bomb waiting to explode. Perhaps in our time it has
exploded.